"What is... going on...?"
Philly had resolved to retreat, yet she still couldn't shake Fuuka.
Normally, under the effects of [Perception Alteration], Philly’s form—and even her presence—should have been impossible to detect. However, Fuuka leveraged her heightened senses and [Future Sight] to their absolute limit, refusing to let her quarry slip away.
The two had moved a great distance from where the Hero Party’s mansion once stood. Now, they were near the outer wall in the city's Northwest District.
"My family is in danger because of you! Just give it up, you criminal!"
One of the ordinary citizens shouted abuse at Fuuka while lunging forward, desperate to seize her. Along with the man, four others were similarly trying to capture her.
This, too, was the work of Philly’s [Perception Alteration].
The bystanders' perceptions had been overwritten to believe this entire crisis was Fuuka's fault. Furthermore, a crushing obsession—the conviction that their families would be harmed if they didn't catch her—had taken hold of their minds, driving them to act with reckless desperation.
"...In my way."
Fuuka couldn't bring herself to cut down the civilians being puppeted by Philly. She was forced to engage in combat while merely fending them off.
Shaking off ordinary people would have been easy for her under normal circumstances. However, Philly was carefully maintaining a specific distance from the group. If Fuuka moved too far from the civilians, Philly would immediately fire attack magic at them. Fuuka was effectively pinned down.
On the surface, it seemed as though Philly held the overwhelming advantage.
—In reality, however, the upper hand belonged to Fuuka.
Philly no longer had the strength to overwrite Fuuka's perception. Even if she tried, she had enough mana for one more attempt at most. She had schemed to use magic to kill Fuuka along with the civilians clinging to her, but so far, not only was Fuuka unscathed, but not a single civilian had died.
"She’s the one member of the Shinonome family who absolutely should not have been allowed to live... Even if she can master that katana, this shouldn't be possible..."
Philly muttered, clutching her shoulder where Fuuka had cut her earlier.
Despite her extensive experience on numerous battlefields, Philly found it difficult to process what was unfolding before her eyes. Whenever she tried to trigger an explosion to clear the area, Fuuka would throw the surrounding people out of harm's way before the blast could land. When Philly tried to conjure a cyclone, Fuuka’s russet-colored blade would slash through the very air, physically disrupting the flow of mana. She was performing these impossible feats with unnerving composure.
"[Agility Up]."
Realizing her strategy with the human shields was yielding nothing but a losing battle of attrition, Philly abandoned her petty tricks and focused entirely on escape.
As Philly drew away, the civilians who had only been under a shallow [Perception Alteration] returned to their senses.
"Huh? What was I doing...?"
"Why am I even here?"
"Everyone, it's dangerous. Head to the Guild immediately. It's been designated as the evacuation site."
Fuuka, instantly realizing the brainwashing had broken, called out to the crowd.
The civilians turned pale as they took in Fuuka's words and the sight of the ruined buildings around them. When she urged them again to run, they scrambled toward the Guild as fast as their legs could carry them.
Once they were clear, Fuuka immediately resumed her pursuit.
In terms of pure physical prowess, Fuuka held the clear advantage. Even if Philly reinforced herself with buffs, Fuuka possessed similar enhancements through her Ki. In a straight chase, Philly stood no chance.
Fuuka caught up before the woman could reach her goal at the West Gate. However, Philly had anticipated this.
Philly skidded to a halt and spun around, triggering a spell.
"—!"
Fuuka drove her katana into the cobblestones just as a localized gale erupted—a wind strong enough to launch a person into the sky. The force of the blast shattered the facades of nearby buildings.
However, Fuuka, the intended target, had lowered her center of gravity and clung to the hilt of her embedded sword, stoically enduring the storm until the winds died down.
The moment the air stilled, Fuuka released the blade and lunged forward from her low stance, closing the gap in a heartbeat.
"First, one hit."
"—!?"
Fuuka focused her Ki into her right fist and drove it with everything she had into Philly’s stomach. Philly, believing she had successfully gained distance with the gust, was too slow to react. She took the full weight of the blow.
"Gah...!"
Philly was sent flying, her body slamming hard into the stone of the city's outer wall.
"Guh... uugh..."
Her face twisted in agony. She slumped against the wall, unable to stand, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Fuuka returned to where her katana remained thrust into the ground. Taking a shallow breath, she pulled the weapon free.
As she did, a series of deep lacerations spontaneously appeared across her right arm, as if an invisible blade were carving into her. Blood began to pour from the wounds. Ignoring the pain and the crimson stains on her sleeve, Fuuka gripped the russet katana and approached Philly with cold, unwavering focus.
"You should be happy. I won't kill you quickly. I’m going to carve the suffering of everyone you've toyed with into your flesh before I let you die miserably."
Fuuka’s killing intent was a palpable, suffocating weight.
Suddenly, she leapt backward, putting distance between herself and Philly. A split second later, a massive bolt of lightning struck the exact spot where she had stood.
"To dodge that even though it was a perfect surprise attack... As expected of the Sword Princess~"
A boy with an androgynous face stood atop a nearby building, whispering as if to himself. He was likely the caster of the [Mjolnir] spell. He wore a robe of brilliant crimson.
Fuuka kept her eyes on the boy but suddenly ducked. A silver arc of light whistled through the air where her neck had been a moment before. The silver trajectory was a flying slash; because Fuuka had evaded it, the building behind her was sliced clean in half.
"I missed, too. I guess physical surprise attacks really are useless against her."
A girl, presumably the source of the slash, muttered as she rested a longsword against her shoulder. She was also dressed in deep red, and her face was a mirror image of the boy's.
"...The Cyclamen Cult."
Fuuka whispered the name as she looked at the twins.
The Cyclamen Cult was one of the two major criminal organizations, rivaling Amunzaas in notoriety. They were a group of zealots dedicated to the resurrection of an Evil God and were infamous for their laundry list of atrocities. Most members were identified by the deep red garments they wore, much like these newcomers.
"Heh, you realized we were from the Cult pretty quickly~"
The boy, speaking with a lazy, drawn-out lilt, casually confirmed his identity.
"Your clothes gave you away."
"Ahaha! True enough~"
"—You really took a beating, didn't you, Philly?"
While the boy distracted Fuuka, the girl had vanished, reappearing at Philly’s side.
"...I have... no excuse. ...Sorry, but could you... use recovery magic on me?"
"I suppose. It would be a hassle if you died here. —!"
The moment the girl moved to heal Philly, Fuuka tried to close the distance.
—But she couldn't move.
"!?"
A sudden, profound weakness washed through Fuuka's entire body. Her strength evaporated; she could no longer even hold her katana with one hand. Dragged down by the weight of the weapon, she collapsed onto the ground.
"That actually scared me..."
The girl muttered, wiping cold sweat from her brow. She had felt the edge of Fuuka's killing intent.
"Sister, are you alright~?"
The boy approached the two women, his voice still airy and slow.
"I'm fine, Fred."
Fuuka’s eyes widened. She was lost in a fog of confusion. Even with three enemies to track, her [Future Sight] should have alerted her to any incoming attack. And yet, she was currently pinned to the earth, her strength failing her.
She gathered from the twins' exchange that the boy had done something, but she couldn't fathom what it was.
"You don't understand what happened, do you~?"
The boy looked down at her. He flinched when Fuuka leveled a murderous glare at him, but he recovered quickly. Confident in his victory, he began to explain.
"[Future Sight] is an exceptionally powerful ability~. With that and your skills, the Sword Princess is practically peerless in combat~."
He wasn't wrong. Fuuka’s strength was built upon her incredible senses and physical limits; [Future Sight] was the crown jewel that allowed her to use those gifts perfectly.
"But [Future Sight] is, at its core, a vision-based ability, isn't it~? It means you can only process information that can be seen. That makes it easy~. If I use a magic that is colorless, transparent, tasteless, and odorless, even your future visions can't detect it~. That’s why you're stuck on the ground~. You've been hit by a Debuff~."
Support magic is generally categorized into three types. The first is the "Buff," which enhances a target. The second is "Non-Attribute Magic," which covers utility outside the six elements. The third is the "Debuff," which—contrary to a buff—strips a target of their power.
Even for Enchanters who specialize in support, debuffs are rarely used. They are incredibly difficult to cast and often yield poor results. A debuff is heavily influenced by the target's magic resistance, requiring the caster to calculate the target's exact resistance and adjust the spell formula on the fly—a nearly impossible task in the heat of battle.
"I happen to specialize in debuffs~. In other words, I'm your natural enemy~."
Even Selma, the continent’s premier Enchanter, almost never touched debuffs. The fact that this boy could successfully apply one strong enough to paralyze Fuuka proved he was an elite-tier practitioner.
"...Are you finished?" the girl asked, her voice cold.
"Ah, yeah. I'm done."
Sensing his sister’s irritation, Fred immediately dropped his playful tone.
"In that case—"
"Wait."
The girl drew her sword to move in on Fuuka, but Philly—whose wounds had been mended by the girl's magic during the explanation—stopped her.
"...Don't you dare give me orders, you loser," the girl spat. "The Sword Princess is a nightmare. This is our only chance to kill her while she's down."
Ignoring Philly, the girl blurred toward Fuuka, swinging her blade toward the girl's throat. She was certain of the kill; she could already feel the sensation of the blade parting flesh.
—That split second of certainty was her undoing. Her strike slowed by a fraction, and it was effortlessly parried by Fuuka’s rising blade.
"—!?"
Fuuka deflected the strike with her first move and prepared to counter with a second, but before her blade could connect, the girl vanished, reappearing back beside Philly.
It was Fred’s [Space Leap].
"...Ah... aah..."
The girl was trembling, the cold touch of Fuuka's killing intent and the sudden brush with death still fresh on her skin.
"That's why I told you to stop," Philly said. "The weapon she’s holding is almost certainly a Cursed Sword. A simple debuff won't be enough to hold her for long."
"A Cursed Sword? You mean like the ones from the legends of Kyokutou~?"
A Cursed Sword is a blade imbued with a unique, malevolent power. It is said that katanas forged in the age of fairy tales, having tasted the blood of countless humans and monsters over centuries, eventually gained a soul fueled by those lingering grudges. They are, in essence, weapons with their own "Special Ability."
While several were rumored to exist in the past, only one is known to remain in the world today—a priceless treasure and a national relic of Kyokutou.
Fuuka’s Cursed Sword usually appears to be nothing more than a masterfully crafted katana. However, when its cursed power is unleashed, the blade takes on a russet hue. In this state, it grants the wielder terrifying power, forcibly overriding their physical limits and allowing them to cut through the very fabric of space.
However, such power comes with a steep price. If the wielder lets go of the blade while its power is active, they incur the "wrath" of the sword—a violent backlash of energy. Even a momentary loss of contact is enough.
Fuuka had released her grip for a few seconds to punch Philly earlier. Even that brief window had been enough for the sword to retaliate, shredding the muscles and skin of her right arm. Had she left it any longer, the sword might have severed the limb entirely.
Furthermore, the sword is a vessel for the accumulated malice of every soul it has ever claimed. If someone incompatible tries to wield it, the grudges will erode their sanity. Because of this, the weapon had been feared and left untouched for decades until it was locked away as a national treasure.
Fortunately, Fuuka possessed a natural compatibility with the blade, protecting her from its mental corruption. As for how she came to possess a national treasure from her homeland—that was a story involving the civil wars of Kyokutou, and a tale for another time.
Fuuka wobbled unsteadily to her feet, pointing the tip of her blade at the three enemies.
"We’re leaving," Philly commanded. "I'm at my limit, and if we keep fighting, we’ll likely all go down together. If we want to kill her for sure, we need to be better prepared."
Philly began constructing a spell formula.
"You think I'll let you? I'm cutting all three of you down."
Knowing Philly was preparing [Space Leap], Fuuka swung her blade to send a flying slash toward them. The russet arc of energy tore through the air, striking all three—but they were illusions.
At the final moment, Philly had outmaneuvered her with a shallow [Perception Alteration]. By the time Fuuka turned her eyes to where they actually stood, the magic had already triggered.
With a flash of [Space Leap], the trio vanished from sight.
The spell's range was limited to a few dozen meters. Believing she could still find them if she reached the top of the outer wall, Fuuka tried to spring forward.
However, the weight of the debuff and the strain of forcing her body to move against the Cursed Sword’s backlash finally caught up to her. Her legs gave out.
Fuuka slumped back onto the ground. Her expression remained as blank as ever, but as she looked down, she gripped her hilt so hard her hand shook, regardless of the blood soaking into the wrappings.
After sitting in silence for a while, Fuuka finally spoke.
"...I want to eat skewers."
The terrifying, murderous aura from moments ago evaporated instantly. The usual Fuuka had returned.
She stood up, sheathed her katana—its blade having returned to its dull, leaden color—and placed it into the scabbard she drew from her storage magic tool. After wrapping a fresh bandage around her right arm to stem the bleeding, she turned and began the long walk toward the North Gate, where Haruto and the others were waiting.